Rennie's eyes narrowed, but he said calmly, `A chicken pie? I had almost forgotten what it was like.' He gestured over his shoulder, but kept his eyes on Okes' stricken face. `Some Dutch folk in the village brought it for me during the night, y'know. Damn nice people really. It's a pity we're at war, isn't it.' He stood up and wrapped the remainder off the pie carefully in his handkerchief. Then he said quietly, `You'd better tell me what is happening.'
Okes controlled his breathing with a savage effort. `The French are coming! Over there, behind the hill.'
`I know. My men have already spotted them.' Rennie regarded him calmly. `What did you expect them to do?'
The marine's obvious indifference gave Okes the little extra strength he still needed. `You can start falling-back. I've given orders to fire the magazine.' He dropped his eyes. `I'm blowing the bridge as soon as McIntosh is ready!'
Rennie stared at him. `But the captain! How in hell's name can he get back to us without the bridge?' He clapped on his hat and reached for his sword. `I'd better go and have a look back there.'
Okes blocked his way, 'his eyes blazing. `You know the orders! I'm in charge if anything happens to the. captain! Your duty is to cover the withdrawal!'
Sergeant Garwood trotted round the bend, his half-pike glittering the growing light. `Sir.' He ignored Okes. `The Frogs is comin'! There's best part of a company movin' down on our flank. I think the rest will try and work round the village and take us from the rear.'
Rennie nodded, his face suddenly grave. `Very well. I'll come at once.'
He turned back to Okes and said slowly, `You'll wait a bit longer surely? It takes time to get a boat back to the headland!'
Okes swung on his heel as a ragged volley of musket fire echoed around the hills. `Get back to your men, Captain Rennie. I hope I know my duty!'
Rennie shrugged and walked quickly up the sloping hillside towards the firing. When he looked back he… could see the smoke from the anchorage drifting across the headland in a solid wall, and tried to picture the devastation beyond.
Against the hillside and the glittering water below the cliff Okes' running figure looked frail and lost. `I hope you do, Mr. Okes!' Rennie spoke aloud to the empty hillside. Then he turned and began to run to his prepared positions and his men.
Okes found McIntosh already squatting on one side of the bridge, craning his head to peer down at one of the massive wooden trestles.
'Ready? Okes could hardly stop himself from shouting. 'Well, are you?'
McIntosh nodded. 'Aye, aye, sir. A two-minute fuse. And a four-minute fuse to the magazine.' He rubbed his hard hands. 'Mr. Farquhar is waiting atop the battery to light it as soon as the cap'n gets back.'
Okes swayed and then controlled himself. 'Wait here!' He started to run again, and as soon as he had reached the outskirts of the battery he blew his whistle and yelled, 'Clear the headland! Fall back there!'
Startled, the seamen gathered up their weapons and began to hurry towards the bridge. Most of them had seen the approaching soldiers and needed no second order.
A petty officer, his face stained with dirt and smoke, strode across to the panting lieutenant. 'Beggin' yer pardon, sir! The cap'n ain't come yet!'
'Yes, yes, I know that!' Okes glared at him glassily. 'You go with the others and get them across the bridge. Wait for me there, and be ready to move!' He peered through the smoke. 'Where is Mr. Farquhar?'
The man shrugged. 'Gone down the steps, sir. He said he'd get a better chance of seeing through the smoke from there.'
Okes strode to the battery wall and leaned against it for support. With the sailors gone and the gunports unoccupied and empty the place seemed strangely dead. He made himself walk to the top of the steps. There was no sign of Farquhar, of anybody in fact.
There was a fresh burst of firing, intermingled with wild cheering, and his limbs started to move as if he had already lost control of them. He walked to the open door of the magazine and stared for several seconds at the waiting fuse and the smouldering slow match beside it. It was not his fault, he told himself. There was nothing else he could do. He sank to his knees, his eyes filled with the fuse and the mental picture of Bolitho hurrying away towards the anchored sloop.
Damn them! Damn them all!.He had to steady his wrist with his other hand as he took the match and held it against the fuse.
He felt the nausea hard in his throat as he staggered to his feet and ran quickly towards the bridge.
McIntosh stared up at him, his eyes uncomprehending,
`Light it, you fooll' Okes was already halfway across the bridge. 'Or stay there and go up with the magazine!'
Mcintosh fired the fuse and scrambled on to the bridge. He caught Okes up around the curve in the road and gasped, 'Where's Mr. Farquhar, sir? An' what happened to the captain?'
Okes snarled, 'Back to the beach! All of you!' To McIntosh he added, 'All dead! Like you'll be if the French catch you!'
There was a thunderous roar, followed almost immediately by a second, sharper explosion. The force of the detonations seemed to quell the musket fire and distant shouts, so that the whole island appeared to be stunned by the noise.
The growling rumble went on, and Okes heard a splintering crash as the bridge fell into the ravine like so much kindling wood.
Strangely, he found that he could walk now, his feet moving almost steadily as he followed his men down the road towards the pier and safety. He had acted in the only way possible. He kept his eyes fixed on the pier. The only way. Others would soon see that, too. He pictured his wife's face when she read the announcement in the Gazette.
'Lieutenant Matthew Okes, who carried the brunt of the responsibility of this daring raid after the death of his commanding officer, is to be congratulated on his valour and his keenness to press home an attack against impossible odds!'
He slowed to a halt as a group of marines burst through the gorse and took up positions on the road itself.
A marine yelled, 'Here they come, lads!'
Sergeant Garwood's voice boomed from beyond the hilltop. 'Hold your fire, my darlings! Ready, now! Fire!'
His last order came as a charging line of blue uniformed soldiers rose above the skyline and started to run down towards the beach. As the musket smoke drifted clear Okes saw the soldiers falling back, leaving others screaming and kicking in a low gorse.
'Reload! Take yer time!' Garwood sounded calm. 'Aim low, lads!'
Another sharp volley, but this time there were more soldiers, and,they came on with fresh determination in spite of losses. And here and there a marine lay dead, and several others crawled slowly down the hillside after their comrades.
Okes could see Rennie standing imperturbably on a hillock, ignoring the sharpshooters as he controlled his thin line of retreating men. He felt his envy giving way to hatred. Rennie would never have acted as he had donel He would have waited for Bolitho and allowed everyone to die for nothing!
Okes shouted, `To the luggert Lively there!'
The sailors ran wildly to the pier, carrying their wounded companions and yelling encouragement to the marines. It seemed to Okes that another age passed before all his men were aboard and the last of the marines were falling back along the pier. There was a fresh morning breeze to fill the lugger's sails, and as the last' marine scrambled gasping over the bulwark the boat idled clear.
With a maddened roar the French soldiers charged from cover and headed for the pier. From individual uniformed blobs they converged into a solid force, and as they surged on to the pier itself they merged into a single enemy.
McIntosh crouched in the bows and looked along the swivel gun. He ignored the sporadic musket fire, and waited until the soldiers were packed into a yelling, tangled, throng before he jerked back the lanyard. `There, my beauties!' He stood up wildly in the pitching boat as the canister shot cut through the screaming soldiers like a scythe. `That's fer the cap'n! An' all the others!'
Before the second wave of soldiers had reached the bloody, threshing carnage on the pier the lugger had gone about and headed out to sea. Aboard there was silence now, and even when the Phararope's raked masts rounded the headland and bore down on the small boat like a protective parent, the exhausted men could not even muster a cheer.
Okes looked back at the island, at the smoke, and the vague outline of the headland battery. It was over.
The lugger was to be abandoned after the raid, so Okes had it laid alongside the Phalarope, where many hands reached down for the wounded and the silent victors.
Captain Rennie stood aside to allow Okes to climb up the frigate's side. He said, `After you, Mr. Okes. I'd not want to spoil your entrance this morning!'
Okes stared at him, his mouth hanging open to reply. Then he saw the cold hostility in Rennie's eyes and decided against it. He must expect jealousy, he told himself firmly. He must be prepared to deal with it.
He reached for the main chains and swung himself up and over the frigate's side. For a moment longer he stared around the familiar deck. He had survived.
9. DEFEAT
Bolitho did not actually 'remember hearing the exploding magazine. It was more like a sensation, or the ending of a nightmarish dream when a man awakes even more afraid of the waiting reality. He recalled sitting in the stem of the crowded and half-swamped boat, staring back at the hissing,. writhing water where the transport had made her last dive to the bottom. His eyes ached from the blaze, and were now dulled by the ship's sudden disappearance and the shadow which reached across the high-sided anchorage to hide the pain and terror beneath.
His men were laughing and chattering with relief and excitement, but as Bolitho turned back to search for the treacherous rockfalls at the foot of the cliff the whole world seemed to explode in one gigantic tremor. Rocks rained down into the water, and as the men pulled desperately at the oars one large piece of splintered stone struck the stem like a hammer, and Bolitho staggered to his feet as the sea surged jubilantly into the listing boat.
It seemed as if the bombardment from above would never cease. He saw one man swept underwater by a complete section of cliff even as he tried to scramble up on to the rocks. Belsey, the master's mate, fell cursing into deep water, and when Stockdale heaved him' bodily up on to the rocks he yelled in anguish, 'Me arm! God, me arm's broken!'
Bolitho's dazed thoughts were slowly returning to normal, and as he called encouragement to his half-drowned men his mind rebelled against what he knew to be true. Someone had fired the magazine without waiting for him and his party. He could find only small gratitude for the fact that had his boat returned minutes earlier they would have all been blasted skyward with the magazine and the battery.
He called, `Follow me, lads! We'll climb along the water's edge on these rocks. The tide's dropping, so we should be able to reach the steps well enough.' He groped his way forward, knowing that they would follow. There was no choice. At the far end of the anchorage he could hear the frantic cries and the urgent notes of a trumpet. The French were too busy saving their own to care about the raiding party. But it would not last. Then the vengeance would be swift and,final.
He staggered to a halt- and blinked through the haze of acrid smoke. In the pale morning light which filtered down the steep ravine he could clearly see the remains of the bridge. There was no point in climbing the steps now. There was no way back to the beach.
A seaman ran dazedly past him and stared open mouthed at the wreckage. `You bastards!' His voice shook with despair. `You damn, cowardly bastards!'
`Silence!' Bolitho pushed the man back with the others. 'No doubt there was a good reason for blowing the bridge this early.' But he saw the look on Stockdale's face and knew that he had seen the lie in his eyes.
Belsey moaned and leaned against Stockdale for support. 'They left us to die! Ran -to save their precious skins!'
,Bolitho held up his hand. 'Quiet!' He cocked his head. 'Listen!'
A seaman said sharply, 'Over there, sir. I heard somethin', too.'
They scrambled over the smoking, splintered timbers until the first seaman fell back with a gasp of horror. Midshipman Farquhar was sitting propped against the ravine's rough wall, his body pinned in position by a great baulk of timber, and lying close by his side was a neatly severed leg.
Farquhar opened his eyes aild croaked, `Thank God, sirl I thought I was going to die alone!' He saw their expressions and managed a painful grin. `It's not my leg, sir! It belongs to our Spanish prisoner!'
Bolitho glanced around him and then up at the brightening sky. `Right. Lift that timber off him, and be very careful!' He knelt beside the midshipman and ran his hands swiftly beneath the massive beam, keeping his eyes on Farquhar's taut features as his fingers probed at his trapped body.
Farquhar said between his teeth, 'Nothing broken it seems!' He lay back and closed his eyes as the beam quivered and began to move. 'I was looking for you, sir. Then I returned to the fnagazine and saw that the fuse was almost burned through!' He sounded near breaking. 'I seized our Spaniard and ran for the bridge, but just as we reached it the whole thing blew up and dropped into the ravine.' He winced. 'And us with it!'
The beam was dragged clear, and Bolitho tightened his jaw as he saw the smashed remains of their prisoner. He asked harshly, 'How did it happen?'
Farquhar allowed himself to be lifted to his feet. Immediately his legs buckled, and Stockdale said gruffly, 'Ere, I'll take the young gentleman, sirl'
Farquhar clung to Stockdale's shoulder and said, `Sorry about all this, sir. I'll be all right in a while.' He remembered Bolitho's question and said vaguely, `I can't understand it, sir. I still can't believe it happened.'
Bolitho pulled the dirk from Farquhar's belt and handed it to one of the seamen. `Here, make a good splint with this for Mr. Belsey's arm. It will suffice until we get back to the Phalarope.'
Belsey watched the men's awkward fingers and groaned. `Watch what yer doin' You're like a pair of blind whores!'
Bolitho walked slowly along the weed-encrusted stonework. Fourteen men including himself. One with a broken arm, and one already half delirious from a ball in his shoulder. Farquhar looked as if he might fall unconscious, too.
He tried to push the bitterness and suspicion to the back of his mind. That would keep. Right now he had to get these men to safety. No doubt the rest of the raiding party was already embarked in the lugger. He suddenly felt calmer. Whatever else happened, he had succeeded in his work. Two transports destroyed and a valuable sloop with them. And without a battery Mola Island would be useless to the French and their allies for a long while to come.
Stockdale called throatily, `The second longboat, sir! It'll still be tied to the jetty where we left it!'
Bolitho scrambled across the wet stones and stared down at the remaining boat. It was not much of a craft. Patched. and well used, and with only four oars and a mere scrap of canvas furled around the mast for every purpose. But no doubt the garrison had only used it for visiting the ships in harbour.
He said grimly, `Get them aboard, Stockdale. We'll have to make the best of it.'
A ray of yellow sunlight lanced suddenly across the headland and glittered in the deep water. Without effort Bolitho could see the gleaming barrel of one of the battery's cannon almost below the swinging boat. A few feet this way and there would be no way out at all!
`Four of you man the oars! The rest of you take turns in baling and keep a sharp lookout!'
Belsey struggled into a sitting position and peered at his splintered arm. The limb was tightly wrapped in an assortment of rags and strips of clothing, and stuck out in front of him like a club. He shook his head. 'Gawd! If I ever use this flipper agin I'll be surprised!'
`Shove off! Give way together!' Bolitho squatted on the gunwale and pushed the tiller hard over. As the boat moved swiftly with the current he stared up at the blackened crest of the headland and wondered what had happened in those last minutes before Farquhar had been flung to most certain death.
Farquhar moved weakly against the boat's side and snapped, `Pull lively, Robinsonl I'll flay you alive if you don't do your share!'
In spite of his misery Bolitho smiled to himself. Farquhar's experiences had not softened his attitude to duty.
The oars rose and fell steadily, and the boat moved further and further from the jutting headland with its attendant pall of drifting smoke.
A man in the bows spoke Bolitho's thoughts for him, and for once he could find no words to rebuke him. The sailor stared back along the labouring men and snarled, `Gone! Look round, lads! The bloody ship's gone without us!'
Farquhar said bitterly, 'She must have gone around the island, sir. We'll never catch her now.'
'I know.' Bolitho shaded his eyes against the glare and looked thoughtfully at the stumpy mast. 'Get that sail broken out, lads. We'll get clear of Mola Island and make for the nearest friendly one.' His crisp tone hid the doubt and the anger.
Stockdale wiped the wounded seaman's forehead with a wet rag and muttered, 'A miracle would come in 'andy, sir!'
Bolitho stripped off his tattered coat and regarded him calmly. 'I'm afraid that is not my province, Stockdale, but I will bear it in mind.'
He settled against the tiller bar and steered towards the rising sun.
Lieutenant Thomas Herrick listened to the bell as it announced the end of the first Dog Watch and then resumed his pacing back and forth across the quarterdeck.
With a warm but fresh breeze from her quarter the Phalarope had made good time back to her patrol area, yet Herrick could find nothing but apprehension and a sense of loss at the speedy passage. He still could not accept what had happened, and felt the same inner anguish he had experienced when the weary raiding party had clambered up the frigate's side.
Even then he had been unwilling to accept that Bolitho was missing. Then he had seen Rennie's grim features and had felt the nervous uncertainty of the other returning sailors and marines. Only Okes had appeared unmoved by the disaster. No, Herrick frowned as he tried to relive exactly the moment Okes had stepped aboard, unmoved was not the proper description. There had -been a sort of guarded jauntiness about him which was totally out of character. Herrick had gone to question him, but Vibart had summoned Okes to the quarterdeck where he had been brooding in silence since the landing party had left for the shore.
Rennie had been unusually reticent. But when Herrick had persisted, the marine had said shortly, 'It was a dangerous mission, Thomas. We must always expect such things to happen!' He had been watching Okes speaking jerkily to the first lieutenant and he had added bitterly, 'I was sent to this ship with my detachment- to reinforce the discipline. To protect the officers from any new threat of mutiny.' His eyes had blazed with sudden anger. 'It now appears that the Phalarope's officers must be protected from each other!' Ren nie had ended, 'I must attend to my wounded. They at least have nothing of which to be ashamed!'
Herrick had then cornered McIntosh, the gunner's mate. The latter had looked nervously at the quarterdeck before replying, 'How can I tell, sir? I just did my duty. Mr. Farquhar was the only one who must have seen what happened.' He had gestured wearily astern. 'And he's back there, dead with the rest!'
'But you think something went wrong, don't you?' Herrick's voice had been harsh.
'You know I can't afford to answer that, Mr. Herrick?' The man had looked back at the wounded and exhausted seamen from the lugger. 'It took a lot of pain and sweat toget where I am now. You know what would happen to me if I made accusations'
Herrick had let him go, his eyes contemptuous, yet knowing in his heart that McIntosh was speaking the truth.
He stiffened as he heard Vibart's heavy step beside him.
'Pipe the hands aft, Mr. Herrick. I will tell them what is to be done.' Vibart looked composed and calm. Only his eyes betrayed a certain glitter which could be either excitement or triumph.
Herrick said, 'Are you sure there is nothing more we can do?'
Vibart stared past him at the ruffled water. 'I told you this morning, Mr. Herrick, just as I voiced my fears to the cap tain. The venture was dangerous and foolhardy. That it was a success is fortunate for all of us. But Bolitho knew the risk he was taking. There is nothing more to be said:
Herrick persisted. `But is Lieutenant Okes sure?
'I am satisfied with his report.' There was a new edge to Vibart's tone. 'So that is enough!' He walked ponderously to the weather rail and sniffed loudly. 'At least we are back in our proper area. Now we can contact the flagship.'
Herrick spoke swiftly to Midshipman Neale and watched him scamper forward. Then he heard the boatswain's mates shouting, 'All hands! All hands! Lay aft!'
As the men poured up from below he crossed to Vibart and said slowly, 'He was a good officer. I still think he could have escaped.'
'Then I will trouble you to keep your opinions to yourself, Mr. Herrick!' The deepset eyes were flecked with anger. `You may have considered yourself one of his favourites, but I will have no such behaviour now.'
He turned away from Herrick's taut features as Quintal, the boatswain, touched his hat and rumbled, 'All present, sir.'
Vibart strode to the quarterdeck rail and stared down at the upturned faces. Herrick stayed by the helmsmen watching Wart closely.
Vibart said, 'We are back on our patrol. We will shortly make contact with the admiral, and I will in due course telll him of our great success!'
Herrick felt himself tremble with anger. So it was a great success now, was it? When Bolitho was alive it had been foolhardy and dangerous, but now that Vibart stood to reap the full credit it was already a different picture.
'I am not satisfied with the recent slackness of discipline aboard, and I intend that this ship will return to a proper state of efficiency as of now!'
Vibart was staring round the assembled crew, his face flushed. Herrick felt sick. He is enjoying it, he thought. He is actually glad Bolitho is deadl
Herrick turned as, Okes stepped through the cabin hatch and walked uncertainly towards him. Herrick took his sleeve and whispered fiercely, `What did you tell Vibart, Matthew? For God's sake, what is the matter with you?'
Okes drew back. 'I told him nothing but the truth! Am I to be blamed for Bolitho's misfortunes?,
'And what of young Farquhar? Did you see him die?
Okes looked away. 'Of course I did. What the devil are you trying to imply?' But there was a shake in his voice, and Her rick was suddenly reminded of Okes' behaviour during the battle with the privateer. His fear, his complete terror. A man could not change overnight.
`I want to know, Matthew. You had better tell me now'
Okes seemed to have recovered himself, and when he looked at Herrick his eyes were opaque and expressionless. 'I told the truth, damn you!' He tried to smile. `But you should not worry too much. You'll be moving up to second lieutenant!'
Herrick stepped back and looked at him with disgust. 'And you will be first, no doubt! And both you and Vibart will be the heroes of the day!'
Okes' face drained of colour. `How dare you! You were not there, so it is easy to be jealous and insulting! Bolitho was only a man!'
`And you are not fit to polish his shoes!' Herrick swung round as Vibart stepped between them.
`I will have no quarrelling aboard my ship, Mr. Herrick. Any more of it and I will make an entry in the log!' He looked hard at Okes. `Come to the cabin. I have a few things to say to you.'
Herrick watched them go, sickened and helpless.
Little Neale asked quietly, `What does it all mean, sir?’
Herrick looked down at him, his face grave. 'It means that we must watch our step in the weeks ahead, my boy. With the captain gone I feel no security here.'
He stiffened as he saw Evans, the purser, hurrying aft, an aggrieved expression on his ferret face. Behind him Thain, the master-at-arms, ushered two frightened-looking seamen, his face leaving Herrick in no doubt as to what would happen next. Floggings, and more floggings. All the old scores kept hidden while Bolitho had been in command would break into the open like festering sores.
He faced Evans and said sharply, `Well? What is it now?'
Evans smiled nervously. `Caught these men red-handed! Stealing rum they were!'
Herrick's heart sank and he called the men forward. 'Is that right? He realised that both seamen had taken part in the raiding party.
One of the men said sullenly, `Aye, sir. The rum was for one of our mates. 'E was wounded. We reckoned it would 'elp 'im.' His companion nodded in agreement.
Herrick took Evans aside. 'It could be true.'
'Of course it is truel' Evans stared at him in amazement.
'But that is hardly the point! Stealing is stealing. There is no excuse, and you know it.' He eyed Herrick with little disguised glee. 'So you had better inform Mr. Vibart.' He drew himself up importantly. 'Or I will, Mr. Herrick!'
`Don't you get stroppy with me, Evans!' Herrick's face was, a mask of fury. 'Or I'll have you broken, believe me!' But it was only anger. There was nothing else he could do but inform Vibart.
He handed over the watch to Neale and went wearily below. The sentry opened the cabin door for him before he had reached it, and Herrick guessed that the marine had correctly foreseen his surprise. Vibart had moved into Bolitho's quarters already. It only added to Herrick's sense of nightmarish unreality.
Vibart looked up from the desk and stared at him.
`Two men for punishment.' Herrick saw Okes leaning against the stern windows, his face lost in thought.
Vibart leaned back in the chair. `Say "sir" when you address me, Mr. Herrick.' He frowned. 'I can't imagine why you make such a point of worsening your positon?' He continued coldly, `Make a report in the log, Mr. Herrick. Punishment at eight bells tomorrow morning. Two dozen lashes apiece.'
Herrick swallowed. `But I have not told you their offence yet, sir!'
'No need.' Vibart gestured towards the open skylight. 'I happened to overhear your nonsensical conversation with Mr. Evans just now. And I must warn you I do not approve of your apparent wish to toady with men who lie and steal!'
Herrick felt the cabin closing in around him. 'Is that all?' He swallowed again. `Sir?'
`For the present.' Vibart looked almost relaxed. 'We will alter course to the south'rd in one hour. Try and make sure that the men do not slacken off during your watch.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' Herrick contracted his stomach muscles into a tight knot.
Outside the cabin he turned momentarily and looked back. The door was shut again and the marine sentry stared blankly in front of him beneath the swinging lantern. It was just as if Pomfret had returned and now sat back there in the big cabin. Herrick shook his head and mounted the ladder to the quarterdeck. It was all moving so much to a pattern again that he found himself wondering if Pomfret had been the controlling influence which had made the Phalarope into a living hell!
When he returned to the deck he saw that the sun had already moved closer to the horizon. The sea was empty, a great desert of silver and purple hues, with an horizon like a knife edge.
Out here a ship's captain was God indeed, he thought bitterly. Only under Bolitho had he felt the meaning of purpose and understanding, and after Pomfret it had seemed like a new chance of life.
He looked aft to the taffrail as if expecting to see Bolitho's tall shape watching the trim of the sails or just waiting for the sun to reach the horizon. Herrick had never disturbed Bolitho at those moments, but had drawn on each occasion to better his own understanding of the man. In his mind's eye he could still see the strong profile, the firm mouth which could be amused and sad almost at the same instant. It did not seem possible that such a man could be wiped out like something from a slate.
He resumed his slow pacing, his chin low on his chest. In this world, he thought, you could never depend on anything.
To the tired men in the longboat the night seemed cold and cheerless, and even those who had cursed the blazing sunlight and bemoaned their urgent thirst found no comfort from the darkness.
Bolitho groped his way aft to where Farquhar was sitting beside the tiller. With Stockdale's assistance. he had just dropped a dead seaman over the side while the other men had watched in silence. The sailor in question had been spared the worst of his wound and the suffering of pain and thirst by remaining almost unconscious from the moment he had been shot down by the sloop's deck watch. The longboat was moving so slowly under her small sail that it seemed to take an age for the corpse to bob astern. There was not even an anchor to weight the man's body. In fact there was not much of anything. Just a cask of rancid water and little more than a day's ration of a cup per man.
Bolitho sank into the sternsheets and stared up at the glittering ceiling of stars. `Keep her due south if you can.' He felt dry and aching with fatigue. 'I wish we could get a bit more wind in this wretched sail.'
Farquhar said, 'I think the boat would sink, sir! It feels rotten and worm-eaten!'
Bolitho eased his legs and thought back over the long, slow passage of time. If that was only the first day, he pondered, what would happen in the next? And the next after that?
The men were quiet enough, but that Too could be dangerous. The first relief at escaping from the French could soon give way to mistrust and recriminations. The misery of being a prisoner of war might soon appear comfort itself compared with a living death without food or water.
Farquhar said absently, 'In Hampshire there will be snow on the hills now, I expect. All the sheep will be brought down to their feed, and the farm workers will be drinking good ale by their firesides.' He licked his lips. 'A few will be thinking of us maybe.'
Bolitho nodded, feeling his eyelids droop. 'A few.' He thought of his father in the big house and the row of watchful portraits. After this there would be no heir to carry on the family's name, he thought dully. Maybe some rich merchant would buy the house when his father died, and would find time to wonder at the portraits and the other relics of deeds and men soon forgotten. He said, 'I am going -to try and sleep for an hour. Call me if you need anything.'